Chapter 8: Terms

At two in the morning someone knocked on my door once, softly, and I knew it was not Justine.

Margot stood in the hallway in a trench coat and heels with the party dress still on under it.

"I have terms," she said.

"Hello to you too."

"Hello. I have terms."

I stepped back and she walked in and stopped in the middle of the room.

"Rule one," she said. "Never at the office. Not a kiss, not a look, not a hand on a drawing."

"You put a hand on a drawing."

"That was the last time. Rule two. We don't say his name."

"Whose name?"

"You know whose."

"I know whose."

"That's the rule, Nathan. Not in this apartment, not in my bed, not in my hearing."

"Your bed."

"Rule three. Either of us can end this with one word, and the other doesn't argue."

"What's the word?"

"Done."

I looked at her for a long time.

"You came here at two in the morning to negotiate."

"I came here because I couldn't sit in my own kitchen," she said. "The terms are how I get through the door."

"Then I accept the terms."

"Good."

"I have one."

"Say it."

"You don't pretend it's a mistake afterward."

Her mouth moved.

"Fine," she said.

She crossed the room in three steps and I had my hands in her hair before she reached me.

This time nobody was waiting in a hallway and there was no weak bulb and no rack of coats.

I took out her pins one at a time and dropped them on the floor.

Her hair came down heavy and dark around my wrists.

She pushed my jacket off my shoulders.

I got her trench coat off.

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